A Beating
by kanndavidson
Summary: Sam must choose. He must choose between something that will haunt him forever or let Dean die. How do you make an impossible decision? [Lots of Dean!Wump/Sam!Angst - Hurt/Comfort all around] - No pairings/No Slash
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. Supernatural was created by Erik Kripke – it is not my intellectual property. There is no financial gain to be made from this transformative nor will any be sought. This fanfiction story is for entertainment purposes only.**

**Warnings: Violence... Always violence + Hurt/Comfort **

**ENJOY!**

...

"SAM!... Sam, hurry up!"

"Dean, I am trying!"

"Well try harder!"

_A minute passed._

"SAM!"

The day was setting, dropping its cloak of oranges and reds on the world. Creatures of dusk crawling from their holes. Big and small alike, life was awakening. But one area of the forest was already drenched in chaos. Nothing keen on existence ventured too close.

It was a battle of survival. Two things locked in a clash for dominance. One that appeared as a man. The other, a creature of nightmares.

A second man was separated from the struggle, working frantically. Powders. Fire. Antlers. Bones. He cautioned glances at his comrade each time a grunt of miscalculation echoed off the trees.

"Son of a bitch! Sam! Sam, come on man!"

Twigs, stones, and pinecones were jabbing Dean everywhere the Pythonissam wasn't. It felt like hours had passed. He was exhausted. Beat down. Tongue swollen and dry. But the fight was far from over. The Pythonissam, still screeching an eardrum raking pitch, acted with endurance that was barely diminished. Pythonissam are witches of ancient times. They pull energy from any unprotected spirit force within their radius. Stealing life. Thus, until everything around them is dead, they can fight unhindered.

"SAM!"

"Dude. Hold on. Almost there."

Have you ever heard the phrase, 'you are what you eat'? For the Pythonissam it is a literal reality. Consuming a deer's life force sprouts antlers from the bitch's head. The energy of stones lends knuckles of the same. So the witch is more forest then a breathing creature. Bristled with needles and sharp broken… _are those bones_? With a giggle of glee, pointy white objects from her forearms raked and stabbed her opponent.

"Sammm!" Dean moaned as something sunk deep in his side. Dean's teeth hurt. His back where she repeatedly clawed burned. Leaking blood. Its volume well noticed oozing down his leg, not pleasant. Made his jeans sticky and crusty. Dean hated it. Reminded him of being weak and vulnerable, scared, out of control when he was too young. Sweat was burning his eyes but he couldn't wipe it away. Every action focused on not becoming dead. He just needed to last a little longer.

_One. Two. Evade. Strike. Three. Four. _

Instincts had taken over. Action without thought or command. Which coincidentally lent Dean's mind time to think. _This bitch thinks she's gonna win?... _Dean's breath was driven from his lungs. _She could win. A single misstep and my brains are scrambled egg… Damn side hurts like a bitch… What would Sam do? _Dean dove out of the Pythonissam's path._ Would Sam survive?_ Dean's throat seized up. Resolute strength shot like lightning from the pit of his gut, exploding through his mouth as a war cry.

_Jab. Cross. Hook. Shin. Block. _

Threaten his brother, a beast is born and though Dean is used to his adrenaline lending a deeply seated strength, he could feel it waning as the encounter tumbled on. Like losing yourself. _Because I am not a hero. I can't protect _him.

The fight had become nothing more than drawn on abuse.

"Dean! NO!" Sam intervened momentarily. Dropping the tattered spell book for a large branch. It broke with a resounding crack over the Pythonissam's back. Giving Dean momentary advantage to regain control. As Dean descended back on top of the witch, he heard bells. Or cries. He couldn't be sure. But it was something that sent a chill icing the crevices of every bone. Somehow, he knew the end was coming. Or something equally as bad. _Finish it Sam. I am fading. Gotta beat this Sammy. Utter the spell so I can let go._

Sam really saw Dean in that instant. The blood leaking from so many small punctures. As if Dean was a pin cushion used without remorse. Split lip. Blood rolling down the side of his head and dripping from his chin. A dark blotch on the torn shirt. His eyes crazed. Focused but clouded as he refused to fail. The only problem, his body was betraying him. Sam saw the determination. Dean was angry. But Dean was tired.

"SAMM!"

"Almost done!" Sam began chanting. The bloodied stakes were set. The fire burning. Water boiling. Moss hung from tree branches. It was the most delicate and intricate attack Sam had ever launched. All the while trying to block out the suffering of his brother.

Pythonissam use ancient magic, feeding off their own to gain strength and power. This gave each unique traits morphing within the new host. Every time a Pythonissam would consume a fellow witch, mixing that power with their personal cocktail of magic, the results were near radioactive, unpredictable. Extremely dangerous. It is why Sam wanted nothing to do with this hunt. But Dean wouldn't hear it. No amount of risk was ever too great for his big brother. Not when innocent lives hung in the balance.

"SAM..." Dean's call was cut off. He didn't speak again. Just grunted or groaned. Sam's nostrils flared as he continued chanting, not losing pace.

About five minutes ago the Pythonissam became barbed head to toe with hundreds of rose bush like thorns. They were stabbing, gripping, tearing at Dean's clothes, at his flesh. With his strength failing, Dean launched a final attack hoping it was enough. Elbow to the witch's face, he sidestepped the punch grasping wrist control as he twisted to her rear. Arm secured behind her back, Dean wrapped his free arm around her throat and…. Clamped on. It was unlike any pain Dean had ever experienced as the pair fell to the forest floor. Like being on fire but not. His entire chest was pulsing agony as the witch used the position to her advantage. Pushing back harder into him, burying her thorns in his flesh. The hooks tearing anything they could whenever she squirmed.

Dean's vision was faltering. _Mom? _Flames, a two-story home burning. Sammy was a toddler, taking his first steps. _No, Sammy is grown. Sammy where are you. I need you bro. _Blackness. Nothing but pictures hanging at various heights on invisible strings descending from a wall-less, window-less room. _Sam? _Then claws glinting in the darkness lashed out. Tore across his face. When his eyes opened next the world was washed in a red hue but he was back. Back in the forest. On the ground with the witch locked in his grasp.

A single thought grew to encapsulate his mind. _Do not let go._ _Do not let go._ That is all he was now. An unforgiving clamp on this creature's back. Like a bull rider, there for the abuse and the ride. Tossed left to right. Body slammed into the dirt, air rushing from his lungs. Dean's eyes were watering. Burning. The salty blood dripping into them made it hard to keep them open or closed. He wanted nothing more than to be able to let go and wipe the agony away.

Dean bit his lips between his teeth, biting trenches in the flesh. _Don't let go. Don't let go. _The witch stopped. _Don't let go. Don't let go. _All was still. _Don't let go. _Chanting, soft and quiet filled his ears. It wasn't Sammy. Dean could still hear Sammy, loud and clear, separate from all other sounds. The foreign words were slipping off Sam's tongue with fluidly, Dean smiled with pride.

No, this chanting was closer. Softer. A woman's voice. _beat eum ut vita… beat eum ut vita… _The phrase was uttered over and over. Past experience told Dean to pay attention but he just didn't care to. _Don't let go._ He was just happy she stopped moving. _Don't let go. _

Next thing he knew, Dean was choking on a grey dust as his arms rammed his chest, captive gone.

"DEAN! Dean, Dean, Dean…" Sam slid to a stop alongside his brother. Dean could feel Sam's cold hand on his cheek. It felt thick. Slimy. _Sam must not mind. _

"Dean. Open your eyes. Dean. Come on." Dean wanted to open his eyes. But dammit, he was tired. Too tired. _I can't right now Sam. I can't. _

"Dean?! Wake-up Dean. We gotta get out of here." Sam's voice broke, breaking a part of Dean simultaneously. Dean didn't know what he looked like but it couldn't be good. He could feel the terror rolling off his brother.

"Oh gosh Dean…" Dean was trying to use sheer will to give Sam a sign. _Come one. Son of bitch! _To force open his eyes. But pure fire had set over him again. Eyes instead crinkling closed even tighter. A moan slipping from his lips. Sam gulped. He held Dean's tattered shirt. They weren't big holes. But so many. Too many. The stab wound. The scratches. The bruises everywhere else.

"Dean…." Sam shuttered. Fingers pressed to his brother's throat as Dean's chest stopped rising and falling.

...

What did you all think? This is not a death fic. I will give you that. Plenty more suffering to come. This story is on par to get very intense. So hold on to your boot straps. Poor Sam and Dean are just getting into the thick of it. Review!


	2. Chapter 2

**Warnings: Swearing. Not as much violence this chapter.**

...

Dean was on a ship. Rocking. Back and forth. He could hear the constant waves against the hull. Like a lullaby to the exhausted, it separated his mind from his body. He couldn't feel anything other than numbness which should have been disarming, but it wasn't. He welcomed it.

Someone was yelling. Frantic. The kind of scared that is contagious, raising hairs on the back of your neck for an unknown cause. _I can't… What is he saying?_ Was it the captain? Dean tried to look out over the water for dangers but it was dark. Everything was dark. The waves shifted to tires on pavement.

"I KNOW BOBBY!..."

_Sammy…_

"He is burning…. Too much blood…"

_Who Sam? Who needs help?_

"I don't know what to do…."

_Are you crying Sam? Sammy? Tell me what is going on. Why can't I open my eyes? SAMMY!_

The waves crashed and crashed.

One. Two. Three.

…..

Sam's hands were shifting from a white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel to almost shaking loose. His eyes, no matter how he fought, would not stop finding his half dead brother via the rearview mirror. Blood was smear all over the Impala's leather. Dripping from Dean's face. Decorating the carpet on the floor.

Sam heaved.

He had seen Dean hurt before. That wasn't it. This felt bad. The grey tinge of Dean's skin, the choking breaths. There was something black and rotting, building in threat at every passing moment. Sam could feel it. Weighing down on his shoulders. Trying to pull him under.

_Ring. Ring. _

"Hello!"

"Sam. What is wrong boy?"

"We… We were hunting. Dean. Dean. He's hurt. Real bad Bobby. I can't, I don't… There is something wrong!"

"Ahhhh…" Sam groaned as his subconscious fought off an oppressive weight trying desperately to reveal itself. It felt like a hand was squeezing his soul.

"Sam? Sam?!" Bobby was already rounding up the basics, keys in hand.

"What?!"

"Slow down kid. What were you fighting?"

The rumble of the Impala's engine was loud in the quiet of the night.

"A Pythonissam."

_Silence…. _So much so Sam got lost it. Mesmerized by the road disappearing under the Impala's grill, fast.

"Sam. Tell me boy. Did the Pythonissam die?"

_Nothing. _

"Sam."

_Nothing. _It was creeping up on him again. Sam could feel it. He ground his teeth together. Close, closer. It was big, a nightmare, not there in the flesh but coming all the same.

"SAM!"

The Impala jerked viciously to the right, tearing off the road. Sam dropped the phone as both hands gripped the wheel and struggled for control. A few tree branches and bumps plus a ditch later the Impala was once again eating pavement. Sweat was dripping from Sam's brow, his heart pounding. Dean had slid across the back seat and was bunched up on his legs on the right side of the car. His head turned away. A bloody smear left in his wake.

"Sam! SAMUEL!" Sam heard the muffled shouts and retrieved the phone from the floor without slowing down.

"I am here."

"Ya idjit. What the hell is going on?"

"I don't know Bobby. That is why I called!" The distraction of nearly crashing into a forest was already wearing off. Sam was once again on the verge of an anxiety attack.

"Help me. Bobby. Help us." A few tears fell. Sam didn't understand why he was behaving in such a manner. This was unusual for him. Typically, it is take out the bad guy, Dean is hurt, patch him up, worry over his wellbeing, don't sleep for a few days, then drive away from town never to return. It didn't feel over this time though. The bitch was dead but something worse had followed them out of that clearing and it was condemning Sam to madness.

"Sam." Bobby exhaled.

"Son. Listen very carefully to me. Did the Pythonissam die?"

"A grey cloud of smoke." Bobby sighed in relief.

"What about before she died, did she say anything? Sam. Think hard."

"What? I…" Sam's brain flopped with his heart beat as the fight came back in flashes.

"I was…"

"S-a-m…" It was a faint noise. Soft and broken. Once again Bobby was forgotten as both Sam's feet drove into the brake pedal. The Impala screeched in response to the abuse as its back end nearly lifted from the road.

"Dean!" Sam fled the car. Next thing he knew Dean was in his arms.

"Dean can you hear me?" Dean's eyelids were cracked open, jaw slack, chest rising slowly. _Gotta tell him. He woulda called Bobby… Bobby will know…_

"Beat…" Sam let out a nervous chuckle.

"You're a little more then beat there Dean. We're gonna get you well though, don't you worry."

"Beat eum…"

"Shhh. Dean. Don't worry about it now alright." _Sammy. Listen to me. _

"_beat eum ut vita." _The phrase was barely audible. Dean went slack.

"Dean. Dean?" Sam gave his brother a light shake. But Dean's head just lulled against his chest. Then the darkness struck. Enveloping Sam and driving him to collapse over his brother in the back seat.

_Sam was in a field. Were those head stones? There was a wrought iron gate to his right. The Impala was parked before him. He was looking through his own eyes but… could also see the scene from above? It was disorienting and presented too much information at once. He was yanked back and forth between the two perspectives gracelessly at a rate that would definitely result in whiplash. _

_The first thing Sam was aware of was the wind. Next, was the breathing. _

_-in body- his hand was fisted in a man's jacket. Emotion and pain vibrating from the man's chest up Sam's arm. Poor bastard must be hurt pretty bad Sam thought. He figured maybe he was trying to help the man. But when he looked up and saw it was Dean's bloody face looking back, Sam nearly gagged. _

_-observer- Sam then watched as he himself proceed to hit Dean. And hit him. Again. And again. Sam was screaming at himself to stop but there was no indication that his words were heard. _

_-in body- Sam felt Dean's nose break beneath his fist. Felt the warm blood from Dean's busted lips splatter over his hand. Sam tried to hold back the punches. To stop. But he couldn't. His body kept going and going. Sam was begging. Just begging for it to end. Then he heard Dean's words. _

"_I am not going to leave you…" _

"_Dean! No. This isn't me. Please. I am sorry." Sam screamed in his mind. _

"_I am not going to leave you…"_

_More strikes. Again, Sam was observing the scene from above. This time, after a punch landed. Dean fell, unmoving. _

"_NOOO!"_

Sam sat up and pushed himself out of the car. Resulting in an unceremonious fall to his side. There he emptied his stomach. His head was spinning. What just happened to him? What did he just see? It felt like he was coming down off some type of seriously fucked acid trip. Everything burned.

"It wasn't a memory," he mumbled. So why would he see it? It couldn't be the future. He would never… Never. No matter what.

...

**There ya have it. Chapter 2. What did you think? I got excited and wrote a part for the ending last night. The heavy hitter for this poor tale has yet to rear its head. So stay tuned! :)**


	3. Chapter 3

Bobby met the pair at an off the map motel. Quiet. Low traffic. Dean could get the rest he needed while Sam continued to descend to madness.

"Easy. Easy." Bobby reprimanded. The pair tripped through the door, Dean swinging between them like a hammock. Body slack, head lolling side-to-side with each of their steps.

Bobby had arrived ahead of the boys. The moment he saw Dean his heart fell. The poor kid looked like he was barely holding on. The bruises on his face had gotten the chance to fully bloom and swell on the car ride. Dean's clothes were colored red more than anything else.

"Let's rest him on the bed." Sammy had Dean's shoulders in a death grip, Dean's head currently against his forearm. There had been too many close calls this evening. Sam felt like every time he blinked there was a possibility Dean would be gone. So, holding him now he didn't want to let go. Wouldn't let go. Bobby noticed. Bobby was about to order Sam to start the bath but Sam's white knuckles changed his mind. Not to mention the expression on the kid's face.

"I'm gonna start the tub. We gotta get him cleaned up, see what we're working with. Warmed up. Poor kids cold as ice. I'll be right back." Bobby took a step before turning back.

"Dean's gonna be alright boy. We are gonna get him patched up." Sam didn't respond. He was just continued staring straight ahead, seated on the bed with Dean's torso in his lap.

…..

Once Dean was stripped down each injury seemed to individually clamor for attention. The stab wound in his side wasn't deep but gnarly. More of a tear then the clean entry of a knife. Tiny red scratches, puffy red, were scattered across Dean's chest like sand on the ground. There was no point in counting them, there were too many. Dean's ribs were bruised, likely broken and there were hand prints on his arms. Knuckle indents scattered here and there took Sam back to the clearing, seeing the witch's fists of stone flying at his brother. Sam thought Dean managed to dodge most, seems a couple times he wasn't so lucky.

Dean stirred slightly as he was lowered into the warm water. In less then a minute it turned red.

"Dean? Dean can you hear me?" Dean eyelids fluttered but didn't open. Instead, he moaned in response as soon as the water hit his side. Body instinctively trying to curl to that side for protection.

"Easy." Bobby mumbled. Sam was shaking. From his hands, up his arms, and across his shoulders.

"Sam. I got this. Go get yourself cleaned up eh."

"I am not leaving him."

"I am not asking you to leave us Sam. But I will need your help patching him up. We don't need him catching infection which means we got some hours of work ahead." Sam looked uneasy. His eyes cautiously shifting from Dean to Bobby. Bobby knew there was more going on then Dean's condition. Dean, unfortunately, had been in bad shape before. Sam was always steady and constant in the care of his brother. But something had the boy spooked.

"Sam. Boy you listen to me now. Clean shirt. Wash up."

Sam didn't move. Bobby was kneeling alongside the tub. Keeping Dean's head above water while simultaneously working to clean his wounds of all the rocks, pine needles, dirt, and underbrush. Sam was alongside him. Bobby was about to bark another order when he noticed Sam's eye twitch. It was subtle making what happened next totally unexpected.

Sam screamed and gripped both sides of his head. He pitched forward over his knees and ground his teeth together. It felt like a hammer was being pounded into his skull. The motel bathroom faded away.

_He was hovering above the field again. Dean was conscious, looking at his physical form. The one holding the front of his coat, fist poised to strike. Sam wanted to die. He couldn't watch this again. _

_-observer- The strikes began. Swift and with the impact of a bull kick. There was no mercy. There was no recognition that the flesh it was brutalizing was his brother. 'NOOOO!' Sam screamed uselessly. Sam knew his words would do nothing. They did nothing last time. But he couldn't help it. "NO! STOP! STOP! DEAN!" Sam's voice broke and the tears came. _

_-in body- One. Two. Three. Sam never realized how you can feel every facial feature of someone when you hit them. Usually you are only hitting someone when angry or self-defense. In either case, why would there be concern for the details? You hit them, they stay down, that is all that mattered. But now, when the one being hit was Dean, those details screamed at him. Imprinted on his fist, his skin, with every strike. The shape of Dean's cheek bone. His teeth through his split lips. The crunch of his nose and its awkward shift as the strikes continued. Sam could feel himself drifting. He fought so hard to gain control without any success that he didn't know how else to survive then block it out. _

The cold tile floor came rushing back with sickening suddenness. Sam gagged and turned for the toilet. He had not food in his system so instead of upchucking, he dry-heaved until his abdomen was spasming.

"What the hell was that?" Bobby demanded, hands still in the tub supporting Dean. As soon as Sam could take a complete breath without his stomach trying to jump from his throat, he turned to Dean. Dean was still grey. It was creepy seeing him resting, white as sheet in a pool of red. It wasn't the combination Sam needed after the vision he just had.

"Samuel. Did you hear me boy!"

"I don't know Bobby. I DON'T KNOW! That is what I have been trying to tell you. I don't know what the hell is going on." Sam voice broke at the end. He was shaking again. Bobby eyed him with concern. Pythonissam, nasty bitches. There was no knowing what these boys got themselves in to.

…

Dean's ribs and side were wrapped. Antiseptic applied to every cut. Sam was sitting on the bed, just watching as his brother's chest rose and fell. Dean was breathing a little better after the warm bath, the steam seemed to have help clear some of the funk clogging his airway. His face was a little worse for wear but Dean never seemed to mind that too much, helped him get along with the ladies it seemed.

"Sam." Bobby beckoned from the kitchen. Sam rose without taking his eyes off his brother. His didn't let Dean out his sight until he was standing under the single light of the kitchenette.

"Son. What happened earlier?" Sam looked ashamed, barely able to meet Bobby's gaze.

"We gotta figure out what this is boy. The more info we got the better armed we are for the fight."

"… That is what I saw…"

"What?"

"I don't know. They are almost like visions. Hyper realistic visions. If I didn't know better, I would call them memories."

"Them?"

"It happened earlier too, in the car, when we were on the phone."

"You saw the same thing both times?" Sam just nodded, adam's-apple bobbing as he swallowed.

"And you remember the whole thing when ya, come out of it?" Again, Sam just nodded, eyes downcast. Bobby's gaze flicked to Dean.

"Is it something to do with Dean?" It was a wild guess that really wasn't that wild. Sam was a strong-willed boy. Little could bring the load of shame and regret currently radiating from his soul.

"I could feel it. Every detail. The wind. The sun." Sam's voice was shifting from steady to crazed. "I hit him. Again. And again. Why would I do that? Why? What is happening to me?!" Sam had stepped off to look at Dean, suddenly turning back to Bobby with the conclusion of his questions. He looked desperate, like he expected an answer, needed an answer.

"I don't know what you are saying boy."

"In the vision. It is Dean and I. But I am strong and Dean isn't fighting back. I am hitting him. I keep hitting him until he falls limp. Bobby… what… how…" Bobby stepped forward and grabbed Sam into an embrace. The poor boy looked like he was about to fall over, chin quivering. Sam held on to the old friend. Using his strength and solidity to stabilize his own.

"It alright. We will figure it out." Bobby mused. The two separated. Sam evaluated Bobby like he was trying to decide if he believed him. After a moment and without a word, he turned back to Dean and reclaimed his position at his brother's side.

Bobby fumbled for his phone. This was bad. Pythonissam can cast crazy spells and curses, they don't like departing the world without one final hoorah. The mess these boys got themselves into this time was going to be worse than anything yet.

**Hope you review and enjoyed!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Sorry for the delay and weird upload. It has done it to me twice so fingers crossed there is no upload error this time around :/... ENJOY!**

It was the night of the second day when Dean groggily opened his eyes. The room was unfamiliar. He didn't remember how he got there. The recognition of pain was immediate however. Flaring up and charging forth without restraint. He barely bit it off before it galloped between his lips in the form of a moan. That is when his fevered eyes landed on his littler brother.

Sam didn't look good. His shoulders were hunched. There were dark bags under his eyes. Like a dog who had been beat one too many times, his aura screamed flight-risk. Every muscle laced with tension.

"Sm'y?…"

…

Sam had yet to leave his brother's side, except for the bathroom, a single shower. The visions hadn't stopped. Their timing was terrible too, striking when Sam least expected it. Taking him to his knees and catapulting him into a living nightmare. Bobby had attempted to rouse him a few times but apparently such efforts are futile. Sam is trapped in the alternate reality until it decides to release him. Like falling dreams, Sam will come-to right before he hits rock bottom. Which for him would be succumbing to the overwhelming guilt slowly scrambling his brain and soul into a babbling omelet of no return.

Sam's head snapped up at the sound of his brother's voice so fast his neck threatened breaking. It was the best gargled-gravel sound Sam had ever heard.

"You're awake!" Dean snorted. Sam could hear his thoughts _"Nice observation genius". _But instead of friendly backfire Dean just closed his eyes.

"Hey, Dean. Not yet bro." Sam's chord of desperation was not missed. Dean found his brother's slightly red, swollen eyes.

"Wh't happn'd?"

"For starters, you kicked that bitch's ass…" A smirk pulled at Sam's lips as he grabbed a wet wash cloth from the side table.

"To you?..." Sam gulped the question away.

"How are you feeling?"

"…. Peachy Sammy…"

"Now that you are awake, I would appreciate you drinking something."

"Bar won't help…"

"I was thinking water first, actually." Sam put the small glass in Dean's slack fingers. They were covered in scabs, every other digit swollen. Sam tried not to notice as his mind slapped him broadside with flashes of his brother beaten to near death lying in the grass alongside the Impala.

"B'bby?"

"Hey there kiddo."

Sam could feel Dean's question hanging in the air. Somehow, '_I am having visions of beating you to death, so I freaked out and called Bobby…_' didn't seem like the right response. Nor did '_Dean you look more zombie then human and I don't know what is wrong…_' So, when in doubt, lie. That is what Sam always says or at least started saying 3 days ago.

"He was in the area."

Bobby clicked his tongue in disapproval but it wasn't the right time. Bobby understood that. Dean had just woken and somehow looked nearly worse than he did on the frantic Impala drive to this shit motel.

"H'lp me'up Sammy."

"Nah, Dean. Take it easy." Dean ignored Sam's words and the hand on his chest, forcing his elbows into the bed. Sam grabbed extra pillows to support his brother's effort. Sam wanted Dean to rest but he wanted him better too, seeing Dean awake and fighting gave Sam strength. Dulled the sharp edge cutting his last few strings of sanity whereas the thought of his brother going back to unconsciousness frayed them all instantly.

"Damn bitch, she hits like a truck."

"Yeah, fists of stone can do that to ya. Ya idjit. What were you thinking boy going fist-a-cuffs with a Pythonissam?" Dean looked up at Bobby with a half-smile.

"No girl is a match for yours truly." Sam scoffed.

"That was no girl boy. You're lucky…" Dean rolled his eyes. Bobby's tone dropped, all business. "What did she say to you?" Dean looked confused, glancing at Sam.

"Ya hungry?" _It wasn't time dammit!_ It wasn't time for that kind of talk. Besides, Sam remembered crystal clear the Latin phrase his brother mumbled half dead on the side of the road. Sam figured he would never forget the words in fact. He knew Bobby's intentions were good but it wasn't time. It just freaking wasn't time yet.

…

The rest of the afternoon continued mostly uneventful. Sam didn't have a vision. Dean's face still swollen, scabbed, and bruised lost the ghostly dead tinge he had been sporting. His eyes bright: which on the surface seemed good, but Sam knew was credited partly to fever and another part to his clumsiness. Something else to worry over.

Dean was able to walk to the bathroom under his own power albeit wobbly. A dousing of sweat coating his skin as a reward. Dean was back. Conscious and kicking. He wasn't going to be a bump on a log anymore unless someone physically knocked him back into unconsciousness. He needed to figure out what was up with Sammy, why the hell Bobby was actually here, and kick the oppressive, crushing weight of doom resting on his shoulders to the curb. It felt like a python coiling around his spine. Tightening slowly. Something was wrong, Bobby and Sammy knew it too, Dean was positive.

…

When Dean exited the bathroom, still foggy from a ridiculously hot shower, Sam and Bobby were damn near squaring off in the kitchenette. Sammy was in distress. Dean could hear it, feel it. The fear, the frustration. Their words were hushed, harsh whispers likely in an effort to keep him out of the loop. Dean soundlessly dropped his towel on the floor and advanced closer, about to announce his presence when...

"No… No… Bobby.. What?!" Sam bit out.

"I know kid. I… I don't…" But Sam cut him off.

"NO!" Sam forgot stealth mode at that point. Dean was pretty sure everyone in the county was aware of Sam's stance on the topic. Whatever that may be. Sam's was so great it ventured beyond the verbal. Denial simultaneously shot down his arms, flinging them wide and sending him turning on his heels.

"Oof."

"Dean! No. No. Dean. Are you alright?" Sam kneeled next to his brother; the back of his hand having caught him square in the jaw.

…

Dean would have been hard pressed to avoid his giraffe brother's long arm even if his reflexes were operating at one hundred. It was a solid hit. Sending him to the floor. But what really caught the hunter off guard was how he felt…. No worse…. _What the fuck?_ Perhaps just another few seconds and the rifle of pain he was expecting would fire deadly. Dean's been in more tussles then he wished to remember with health subpar. It magnified the pain tenfold. Striking already bruised flesh was a torture employed by demons that should hold no place outside of hell. Dean still had his shields firmly in place, waiting for the hit. But it wasn't the pain that eventually broke through his resistance, it was his brother.

"Sam?"

"Dean, what the hell! Are you alright?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I am fine."

"You came out… I didn't hear ya… I didn't mean it. I didn't. Trust me." Dean was looking at Sam. Saw how important it was, for some reason, that his little brother make him understand it wasn't intentional. Dean patted his arm absentmindedly. This was too much. The pain of injuries he was hiding. The secret he wasn't privy too. Sam being weird. Bobby tight lipping it, looking at Sam for rescue anytime Dean directed questions at him.

"What's goin' on Sam?"

"Don't worry about it now. Let's get you up. Are you sure you're okay?"

"I am fine. I feel… I don't know. I feel… not worse actually." Sam and Bobby froze. The world stopped spinning. The annoying buzz of the shitty HVAC unit silenced. Not even the fly repeatedly pounding the glass in a fruitless attempt to escape disturbed the merciless silence.

"What the fuck is going on? Huh? Someone better start talking or I'm gonna be the one throwing punches."

"Dean."

"Sam." There was no room for discussion in Dean's tone.

"How 'bout a seat eh?" Bobby scooted out one of the moss green chains from the table. Dean evaluated the man, the chair, then Bobby again. Sam finished helping his brother up. The improved humanesque hue of Dean's skin did not go unnoticed. _His initial loss of death's touch only vacated earlier after I accidentally….. No. No, no. This can't be true. _

"Start talking. Enough with the secrets. Ya guys suck by the way." Sam worked his jaw. Dean continued glancing back and forth between the two of them.

"It's only a theory at this point."

"What? What were you two arguing about?"

"Ya remember what the witch said to you just before she died?" Sam questioned, his words meek and hesitant. Dean thought for a moment, summing up his lack of an answer with a shoulder shrug.

"On our way here, when you were…" Sam blanched, "You mumbled the phrase '_beat eum ut vita'_. According to Bobby, Pythonissam typically curse whoever is trying to kill them right before they die."

"Poof. I remember that. Fricken' fugly tasted as bad as she looked." Dean shivered in disgust.

"Yeah, well… The phrase literally translates to 'beat him to live'…."

"That sounds… bad…" Dean was trying not to get frustrated, expressions dancing across his face undeterred.

"Dean. I…" But Sam was breaking down. Dean saw it. The kid looked like he was about to tear at the seams.

"Sam. Come on. I'm gonna die? I'm gonna grow a tail? Boobs?" Dean wagged his eyebrows. Sam turned almost green.

"Sam has to... uh. As legend has it... beat you ta' death." Bobby's words were soft with shame and regret. The all consuming silence from earlier paled to nonexistence in comparison to the echo chamber that had become nasty motel room #5. Sam's gaze was downcast. He couldn't bring himself to look in Dean's eyes. Dean was stunned. First staring holes into the wall, then desperately looking back and forth between his two companions.

"What? Hah. That can't be right..." Dean's exuded with hopeful denial. But it was as if death himself was standing among them. The room could not have been more somber.

"Guys!"

"Dean..." But Sammy's eyes were swimming with unshed tears that stopped him cold. So Dean turned awestruck to Bobby.

"Bobby?..." he muttered softly.

"... So sorry kiddo."

"There uh. There has to be more to it. A loop hole. An option. Something."

"If not... Dammit Dean! This ain't easy to talk about! This ain't something Sam and I want to entertain!" Bobby was quivering, subtle but present. An out of character display for him Dean noted in a distant recess of his mind. Dean had to glance down to ensure the cold metal steak being driven through his chest was truly imagined.

"We've gotten through worse." Dean tried placidly.

"NO... NO!" Sammy's tears started to fall. Dean looked like he had already gone 20 rounds with The Undertaker. _I just got him back... _Sam looked down at his hands concerned about they would do in the coming days. Bobby cleared his throat. He wrangled back some control, plowing forward with the facts. That is how they always did it. It was better that way. Throw all the dice on the table, see how they fall.

"Otherwise... you will fade slowly and painfully over the course of the next week. No medicine can help ya. If the deed isn't done within seven days of the curse, you'll be brutal mess for 48hrs until you just..." Sam's knees gave out, grabbing the table in a desperate effort to not meet the floor. Hearing it. Blunt. To the point. A vision rammed him full wack-a-mole. The last part of reality Sam knew was his brother calling out startled and concerned.


	5. Chapter 5

Sam came back to a scene relative to the one Dean saw when exiting the bathroom.

"Bobby. You got it wrong. This can't be it!"

"Dean. Calm yourself."

"This is not happening. Hear me. You deter Sam from even entertaining the thought!"

"He should have a say..."

"NO!"

"Dean... I get it. This ain't easy. But him watching you die slowly ain't gonna be any easier..."

"He is not carrying that on his conscious. Period."

"That is just it... there will come a point when you don't have a say..." Dean looked defeated. A man crawled from the grave only to be told he must immediately return. An extra kick in the balls being his brother is supposed to kill him in the spirit of saving him. Dean's shoulders were slumped. His eyes glassy, their shamrock green a bright, stark contrast to the purple and blue bruises littering his face.

"The minute I was awake... The minute I opened my eyes... The first thing that should have been said was that Sammy is having visions that send him into fucking oblivion and they are getting worse. That should have been staple fucking one!" Dean yelled at the greatest capacity his broken ribs and split lips would allow.

"Stop yelling…" Now it was Dean coming to his brother's side. After collapsing, Bobby and Dean had managed to move Sam to the bed. Sam's eyes had been ping-ponging under closed lids as his lips trembled. Nothing Dean did woke his brother. After a few minutes of feeling completely useless, Dean figured it was the best opportunity to get answers.

"Hey, how ya feeling?"

"Great. The yelling really helps my pounding headache. Thanks."

"What did you see?" Dean's words were cold, demanding. Like he was speaking to a case victim vs his brother. Sam was staring at him with as much intensity as Dean was dishing out. Sam's eyes darted to Bobby, so quick it could have been missed by a blink yet it relayed all: the desperate pleading for Bobby to not say anything, the pain still raging in his head following the vision, the guilt that lingered, a request for permission, and an ask for strength.

"Nothing. I just tumble around in darkness." Sam saw the disbelief in the crinkles around Dean's eyes.

"Sam. Now is not the time for secrets."

"This ain't a secret Dean!" Dean felt Bobby some steps behind him. The old hunter's gaze burning his back with empathy.

"I'm going out."

"Dean. No!" Dean had already stood from his brother's side and whirled half way to the door before Sam fell out of bed in a fumbling haste to stop him. Dean stopped.

"Dean. Please." Sam called from the floor. He hadn't yet secured his bearings. Dean's chin fell to his chest. Moments slowly tip-toed by.

"Okay. If we are gonna do this, it is just another case. Bobby… where is the lore? Can't take the chance something was missed. Sammy, better get up. Your lounging around won't be of any help, you need to spear-head the research. Point me in a direction." Sam cautioned a glance at Bobby, concerned. In that instant it was apparent: Dean understood. Indifferent detachment the approach.

It was day 3, only 4 left….


	6. Chapter 6

The night edged into morning. Discussion amongst the trio was short, case driven. Sam constantly peering at Dean from over the spine of a book, or from the bathroom, or kitchenette, or any other spot he occupied in the small 250 ft space. Like Dean didn't notice: didn't feel the eyes on him, the tension in the room shift from concentration to failed inconspicuousness. Bobby got food at some point for a break from it all. Truthfully, they all needed a break but Sam refused to let Dean from his sight and Dean reciprocated. Sam's visions, or 'black-outs' as he assured Dean, were not getting better. Over the last twelve hours Sam hit his knees twice. Each time, Dean's soul dropped to his feet: becoming as bruised and battered as his face. Like a syphon on his limited energy store, the episodes were contributing to Dean's exhaustion. Deepening the bags under his eyes. Wrapping him in a pain far worse than anything physical.

When sunlight finally started peeking through the haphazardly drawn curtains, hesitant, the only one awake was Sam. The visions were starting to bleed into his reality. Flashing images of Dean's shirt curled in his fist. Dean's blood splattered on his hand, his shirt front. The give of Dean's busted nose under each hit. Worst of all, the lifeless bob of Dean's head. Left and right, back and front. Sam would blink and be there, then blink and be in the motel. It was nauseating. Through it all, Sam was still refused any control or interference. Always a spectator to his worst nightmare. Powerless. Dark circles smudged themselves under the young Winchester's bloodshot eyes.

They hadn't found anything. Not even a sliver of hope or redirection to indicate what Bobby relayed was errored. But they kept searching none the less. Because Dean needed them too. Sam needed them to. Sam knew his brother was teetering. Waiting in anticipation for the snap that would propel Dean towards taking matter into his own hands. It would be rash. Incredibly stupid. Not to mention plain hard. Sam knew it, Dean's 'back-up-against-the-wall' panicky decisions always were. All brass and no brains his brother. Lucky for him, and Sam, luck seemed glued to his side. But Sam doubted it could hold true through this.

Sam's eyes flicked from his brother's unconscious form to the window. Someone padded by. Oblivious and happy to start a new day. A contrite pang of jealousy stabbed Sam in the heart. He let his desire fueled thoughts tumble into the past. A bright summer day. The world free for the picking as Dean burst through a different motel room door, coffee and donuts in hand. In this memory Dean was healthy. Full of fighting life as he hollered at his younger brother something about _get your lazy up_. Sam smiled. He leaned his chin into his forearms which were resting on the back of the chair he was straddling. A groan caught his attention. Dean wasn't healthy. That was reality. He looked worse. The bruises refusing to fade, no yellow of healing creeping in. Dean still held his sides. Both of them. He limped, and winced whenever he started speaking. The ashen white tone of his skin seemed to color a shade more dead with each passing hour. Sam's eyes slipped closed. A tear escaped. It felt like having an anvil on the chest. Pinned to the ground with no options. Can't move it, can't change it. The weight was crushing and Sam knew he was losing grasp of his bindings, soon to spill all over the ground in a dramatic display of despair.

"Did you have another vision?" There is was. The gargled gravel sound that was simultaneously slicing Sam open and stitching him back together. Dean didn't bother to move. Or even open his eyes.

"Nah. Just couldn't sleep."

"The couple next door... I gotcha." Sam made a face.

"How ya feeling?"

"I swear this bitch is still working me over from the afterlife." Silence fell. Dean didn't really mean to share how crappy he felt or allude to the fact he wasn't getting better. Sam didn't mean to interpret the literal truth from the statement. But the words were said and raged their war. Time passed. Sam even thought perhaps his brother had fallen back asleep.

"Donuts. Dude."

"What?"

"Coffee and donuts."

"Uhh…"

"Wish I had some."

"I am sure we can send Bobby once he wakes up."

"Yeah…" Dean exhaled.

"Sammy…"

"Dean."

"Look. You know we gotta talk about it man."

"Dean. We… I…" Sam's words tripped all over themselves. He had thought it already. All of it. Any conceivable thought or path had marched its way through Sam's head at some point over the last 3 days. _We are just wasting time… could get it over with now. What are we really waiting for? There isn't any new information, isn't going to be any new information. We know the truth. Know the reality. We are lying to ourselves in hoping there will be another way. Dean is gonna take drastic action once he realizes how back into a corner he really is. Bobby… Bobby is in an impossible situation. Maybe I should send him away…Regardless the outcome it will be bad. He doesn't need to witness it….. But I might need him to put the pieces back together if there are any left afterwards. _

"Stop thinking. Your giving me a headache." Sam chuckled.

"Both ya two knuckle heads stop talking and stop thinking. Don't you know a man needs his beauty rest." Bobby grumbled. Dean sat-up. Slowly.

"Well given that the party is all present..." His feet thumped down onto the floor, as his elbows found his knees. "When was your last one?"

"Eh… few hours ago. Wasn't too bad." Sam lied. Luckily, he had been headed back from the impala when the vision filleted his brain, so his cries had been lost to the gravel and dark night. Dean just shook his head lightly. Acknowledging Sam's lie and gathering strength to stand. It was shaky. Legs unsure if they could hold his weight long enough to make it to the bathroom. Pain howling up his spine and clawing through every fiber. Sam made to stand at his brother's side but Dean motioned him off. Once the bathroom door shut, Sam closed his eyes. Just for a minute…..

….

Dean knew it was wrong. Knew his actions would cause more harm then good. Yet, the gas pedal remained depressed as the Impala continued creating distance between him and his family. Sam was going to go nuts. Dean hated knowing the torment he would be responsible for. But the other options were worse. Sometimes you got to _bite the hand that feeds ya…_ Or something like that. His brain wasn't operating on all cylinders. What he did know, no cure exists. No variance or unturned stone was waiting in the lore. He wouldn't let Sammy do it. Regardless the outcome, Sam carrying through with the plan Dean already knew he was formulating would break a piece of his brother. Sam is too emotional, too caring. Always has been. His heart as big as his oversized framed and this…. This would fracture it. Leaving an ugly scar that Dean would have to star in the face everyday he looked at his littler brother knowing he was responsible. Sam would hide it. Would lie. Would perhaps forget, for a little while here and there. But Dean never would. It wasn't happening.

Dean applied more force to the gas pedal and the Impala hurdled down the road. Surely an unruly drunk filled with a night of spirits was still at the bar… and Dean knew how to play those cards.

Day 4, only 3 left.


	7. Chapter 7

Sam startled awake. Head snapping up, eyes scanning the room before his brain could even consciously instruct such to happen.

"Bobby!" Sam took two long strides to the motel room door and let it fly open into the wall.

"What in the?..." Bobby started but was cut off.

"HE'S GONE!"

Bobby got from bed as quickly as his aging body would allow. Sam was right, the parking lot was empty of Dean's second half.

"I knew he would do this!" Sam was frantic. Not wearing it like a cape, but letting it slither dangerously under the surface. His eyes darting around, pupils dilated.

"He's such an idiot! I knew he would never... I felt this coming… Where's the nearest bar?" Sam demanded as he slammed a full clip into his pistol. Bobby's face was drained of color, jaw slack: he was losing them both. There is pain, then there is something more. Something dark and dangerous, that destroys and desolates. Bobby watched as Sam broke into a sweat, hands shaking. This was it. No more pretense of hope. The day would end bloody, or worse.

There was no acknowledgement from the youth to his old friend. Sam was moving mechanically. As if Bobby wasn't even there. But Bobby saw the tears pooled on the young man's lower lids. Sam was moving about trying to secure a false sense of being sufficiently prepared. There was no such thing. Sam tried to storm out but Bobby still stood at the doorway. He grabbed the kid's shirt front and pulled him in. Sam fought, caught off guard, but within seconds relented. The fear and dread fueled bubble of anger popped in an instant: collapsing into Bobby's embrace for all it was worth. The tears flowed.

"Bobby…" Sam cried, trying to hold it together while his voice broke: betraying his efforts. Bobby squeezed his eyes shut pulling the youth in tighter. Sam fisting his shirt in return.

"I can't lose him…" Sam mumbled into Bobby's shoulder, trembling. "What if I…"

"Listen to me boy. This is not the end. For either of ya. You hear me?"

Images of hitting Dean, his big brother, over and over till Dean's face was more distorted then intact setup front stage in Sam's mind. Sam tightened his hold further. Feeling Dean's bones break against his knuckles, the warm blood splattering up onto his face…

"We're gonna go get him and drag is sorry ass back." All was still. "Got that?"

"Bobby."

"Nothing more about it now." Bobby let go. Sam wavered, turning away to collect himself. He felt so exhausted. Next thing Sam realized the pair was driving away from the motel. Sam wasn't sure he remembered being ushered into the passenger seat. But that didn't matter now because a few miles later there was the Impala.

…

Dean arrived at the bar with a single thought - _get drunk and then let go_. Dean has been to enough bars and subsequently in enough bar brawls to know there was always someone itching to release rage through fists. Its just how a drunk crowd got on. _Death by beating…_ _Spare Sammy. _But Dean hesitated. He was very familiar with the specificity of most curses. They tended to lash back more furious if double crossed. Yes, Sam and him had maneuvered between the lines on numerable occasions, but this was different. There was no shred of evidence towards leniency. Bobby's words a constant echo in the back of his mind. _You will fade slowly and painfully over the course of the next week. No medicine can help ya. If the deed isn't done within seven days… you'll be brutal a mess for 48hrs until you just… _Maybe that was the key. To drive, drive, drive. To just keep driving. Disappear where Sammy could never find him. Let time do the dirty work. No reason to burden some poor sap with his own cowardice… How brutal could 48hrs really be?

Dean looked at his haggard reflection in the rearview mirror. He was ashy white. Every bruise and cut still fresh as day one. Beard stubble on his chin. Black bags hung under each eye, or was that just more bruising? His lips were cracked. His eyes shone dull, worn out and in pain. _It's getting worse_. It felt like Bob the Plumber had setup shop in his abdomen, running a wired brush slowly through every vein, every tube. The feeling had started compounding sometime yesterday afternoon. From non-existent, to an ache, to at times, flares of pain that nearly had him folded in two. After fighting the witch, he felt like he was hit by a truck, now he felt like he was hit by ten trucks all hyped up on super juice.

"Already dead." Dean closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the seat. He was so tired. Another perk to slowly dying he supposed.

"Dean." Dean startled, shooting an angry glance at his brother.

"Unlock the doors Dean." _When did I lock them? _"Now, Dean!"

_Sammy?_

"Dean, pull it together. You hear me? Focus Dean. Open the door."

Dean blinked slowly. _Why does it feel like I am wading through a vat of ectoplasm? _Sam's voice climbed to another octave of concerned.

"DEAN!"

"Uh… Nah Sammy… Not this time." Dean forced out.

"Dean. Stop. We are going to work through this." The feeling faded. Dean was _back, _whatever that meant. He no longer felt like a zoned out tweaker, so he wasn't complaining.

"I know… what that means Sammy. Ain't happening..."

"Dean. No. You can't. Whatever you're planning is a worse alternative… I'll be fine... You'll be fine." Dean managed to lift an extremely heavy right arm and turn the key, the Impala's engine rolling over, muffling his brother's words.

"Dean. You listen here boy." The low growl reminded him of his father. Dean wanted to scream and cry. This unfairness in comparison to the rest of their lives nearly took the cake. Which is saying something. The two men Dean valued most in the world were standing outside his door. Begging entry. So that later today his younger brother could beat the life out of him in hopes of saving his life. _Laugh! How do you not laugh? Or cry. What the fuck is wrong with us?_ This had to be the lost script of a terrible teen drama.

The pain flared. Dean flung forward and Sam palmed the window nearly hard enough to shatter it.

"DEAN!"

Dean kept his eyes closed. Forehead pressed into the steering wheel. His mind reeling with options while his heart already knew what he was going to do.

"Dean. Listen to me. I will follow where ever you go. There is no path that saves me from a terrible future if you die Dean. I know that is what you are trying to do. Stop. There is a path here where I can save you." Dean, arms still wrapped around his middle, turned to look into his brother's tear-filled eyes. The lock clicked open. Sam threw the door open with too much force and hit his knees at his brother's side. No matter the gravel. No matter the bystanders staring.

"What is it Dean? What's wrong?" _Lie. Tell him you pulled a muscle… Yeah, that'll work genius. _Dean groaned.

"I'm being gutted from the inside out I think."

Sam glanced up at Bobby who shook his head sadly.

"We're going back to the motel Dean." Sam didn't wait for a response. He pushed his brother into the passenger seat and climbed behind the wheel. With a curt nod to Bobby, the brother's pulled away. A big black truck close behind.

Day 4 done. Day 3 dawning, only 2 left.


End file.
